Gone for the Summer
by bloodyelectro
Summary: "You won t take back all the heartfelt words spoken late at night in a place so far away from everything you know."


**A/N: **_italics_ refer to moments in the past. Same universe as 'Monday Morning', 'Trains on Train Tracks' and 'On the Fifth Floor', but set before all of these. This is me welcoming the summer. ^^ Reviews would be lovely jubbly. (Just stumbled upon this expression in my online dictionary. lol) Hope you like it.**  
**

* * *

**GONE FOR THE SUMMER**

The first time she kisses you is in a dark stairwell.

You´re on the way up to your apartment when she grabs your hand and pulls you back. You immediately know what it´s about. You´ve felt it too, ever since you came here. And you want to take this step.

Long seconds pass by and you´re just about to lose your nerve when she finally presses her lips against yours.

You´re drunk on wine, on freedom, and neither of you sees anything wrong with a little summer romance.

She´s not surprised that this is happening, and really, neither are you.

It´s a natural development; it makes all the sense in the world, when your lips touch, when her arms wrap around you and your bodies press together, a perfect fit. Taking this step seems like the most logical thing, despite (or because of) everything that ever happened between you.

The wall is cold against your back, two floors down a light is flickering, a car´s driving by on the street.

You´ll never forget it.

The first time you kissed Santana.

* * *

"_Come away with me," Santana had asked. Come away with me, just you and I, she´d said and you had found yourself unable to deny her request, unwilling to reject her on that Friday afternoon in the parking lot. You had smiled and said Okay, not knowing where she wanted to go, not knowing for how long, but wanting to go anyway._

_._

_._

_Three months later, standing on a small street in a French city on an island in the Mediterranean Sea, all the way in Europe, you wonder why._

_The building you´re going to be living in most of the time during the next two months looks horrible from the outside and not too much better once you enter. Santana catches the look on your face._

"_It´s cheap okay? And we´re on a low budget," she explains shortly before she knocks on a door on the first floor._

_Neither of you can pronounce the name of your landlady so you just call her la Madame. For reasons you don´t understand she seems utterly charmed by Santana._

_The tiny apartment your friend has booked for the summer is on the fifth floor, there´s no elevator, and it feels like at least hundred degrees outside. You make a mental note to learn how many degrees Celsius that is._

_The rooms are small but at least you have your own._

_From the balcony you can see over the city and part of the harbor, to the left is the ocean, to the right the mountains. _

_It´s gorgeous._

"_This summer will be perfect," Santana tells you with certainty._

_She grins widely when you turn around and catch her eyes._

"_You like?" The old lady proudly asks._

"_It´s wonderful," Santana tells her with a smile, joining her back in the hall._

_You don´t know what to expect from this summer, this trip, but you promise yourself to be open and to enjoy every moment._

.

.

It´s hard to stop kissing her; her lips, her tongue against yours feel so right you never want to stop. Warm, wet, calm and wanting; you need to pull her closer, always closer, just a little bit more.

You have never considered yourself a very sexual or sensual person; not with your prior experiences, not with your upbringing; and maybe it´s the ambience, the weather, the wine, maybe it´s simply Santana, but what happens between you two that night is soul-stirring, and it nearly makes your heart burst.

She tastes so good, her skin is addictive, and once you realize you don´t have to be afraid, that Santana offers you all, you can´t stop taking, can´t stop wanting her.

As the sun begins to rise your eyes close. The last thing you see is her soft smile.

The last thing you feel are her lips against your skin.

.

.

_On day two of your trip you step out onto the street a little after eleven; it´s hot, the sun already standing high._

"_So what now?" You ask her, adjusting your sunglasses, acutely aware that Santana doesn´t seem to have a map or a plan._

"_Now we´ll just start walking and see where we end up," she answers with a grin before she starts down the street, "come on, I want to get some ice cream," she calls back at you when you don´t immediately follow her._

_A week later, after days of exploring the city, a feeling of belonging and home will start to set in._

.

.

When you visit the Bonaparte House in Ajaccio two days later (at your insistence) Santana gets bored quickly and decides to wait for you outside, where there´s more sun and less people. An hour later you find her sitting on a low wall, staring out onto the ocean.

"Do you want to grab something to eat? My treat."

She takes your hand as you help her down and it´s only later when you reach for your money to pay for the ice cream that you notice that your hand is still in hers, fingers carefully intertwined, feeling like this is how it´s supposed to be.

Santana let´s go and doesn´t look you in the eyes for the next minutes while you eat your ice cream cones, sitting in the warm sand.

.

.

You spend the night in a hotel, the bed is comfortable, but it´s not your bed, not like the one you have in Bastia. You miss your home away from home.

Contrary to what you would have expected Santana´s quiet underneath the sheets; when you have sex it´s all about heavy breaths, low moans and faint whispers. It´s nothing like you imagined which makes it so much better.

She feels good against you, underneath you, like she belongs there.

It´s passionate, occasionally a bit rough, but she touches and marks you in all the right places unlike everybody else you´ve shared your body with.

.

.

"_Are you a couple?" Louis asks you after dinner one day, when Santana´s helping with dishes. It´s the end of your second week on Corsica and la Madame has taken quite a liking to your friend. She´s invited you to dinner and introduced you to Louis, her grandson who is visiting for the summer, just like you._

_There is a small black cat on your lap, claiming half of your attention._

"_No," you answer him truthfully; a little surprised he would think that._

"_Are you sure?"_

"_Yes," you say, because you are._

"_But have you ever thought about it?"_

_This time you stay silent, and you can´t say whether it is because you don´t know the answer or because you don´t like it. You think about lying to him. Lying is easy, lying almost comes naturally, but you don´t want to taint this place with lies, start this possible friendship not telling the truth._

_You hear Santana laughing inside. "Yes, I have… especially since we got here."_

_It´s been two weeks. The combination of this beautiful environment and all the time spend with Santana is starting to mess with you._

_Or maybe things just finally fall into place, you allow yourself to think, but not to say._

.

.

You´re looking out onto the sea; you know Santana´s sitting on the hood of the car, keeping an eye on you. You´re on your way back home to Bastia. You take a deep breath, try to take it all in, to conserve everything you´re feeling right now, you try to make a memory.

When you breathe out she wraps an arm around you.

"There´s still more of this to come," she promises squeezing your side.

You lean back into her and just feel.

.

.

"It´s breathtaking," you say, taking in all that is around you, the beauty that this place is.

You´re standing on top of the highest mountain on Corsica.

"Absolutely," Santana agrees, her hand finding yours, squeezing slightly.

Louis tells you he´s taking a picture.

He knows that things have changed between you two.

He´s a friend for life, you can tell, and you don´t have a lot of those.

Later it will be one of your favorite pictures of the summer.

One of your favorite memories.

.

.

_You´re at the market to get some groceries with la Madame and Santana´s practicing her French._

"_Une pomme… une banane… un citron…" she says, naming whichever fruit the older woman points at. Her pronunciation still makes your landlady giggle sometimes, but she acknowledges that Santana´s trying._

_She looks so full of joie de vivre and you can´t take your eyes off of her. You catch her eyes, she´s beaming with happiness and pride because she got everything right. You´re heart jumps in your chest and you lean over to kiss her cheek. La Madame laughs and says something neither of you understand._

.

.

Her hair is up, head angled to the side; her neck looks so inviting, and you can only resist for a few short moments before you step closer to her. Your hands wrap around her hips, your lips find that special spot and you can feel her smile. She continues to draw while you lovingly molest her; she´s not going to spoil your fun.

.

.

_The kitchen is the coolest place in the apartment you realize on a particularly hot Monday nearly a month into your stay. The two of you sit on the floor, Santana with her back against the fridge, you with your legs thrown over hers against the doorframe. There´s a glass filled with slowly melting ice cubes between you. She´s reading an article about Paris´ catacombs to you; a two month old issue of National Geographic was the only thing written in English you could find in the small shop two streets over. Santana has a nice reading voice you decide._

.

.

You push her robe open with your hands, wrapping them around her midsection as you step closer, pressing her against the doorframe with a kiss.

It´s slow, her touch on your skin is burning, but you can´t get enough. The only thing cooling you down is the ice she keeps pushing around in your mouth. Her fingertips are cold when she places another cube on your skin, but just as quickly as the ice is melting, her touch warms up.

Her skin is slick with sweat.

After you come you feel light-headed; you´re hot, your mouth is dry, and your skin is only slowly cooling off.

Santana´s breathing hard next to you, the muscles in her arm are still twitching.

Your fingers trace along her ribcage and you marvel at how soft her skin is. It feels like silk under your touch and you can´t keep your hands off. Her eyes are closed but she´s humming contently.

You´re thirsty but can´t bring yourself to get up.

.

.

"_Just drive darling," you tell her, your heart skipping a beat at the smile she sends your way._

_Her white button down shirt is mostly open, her black bra peaking out. You feel adventurous and honestly can´t help yourself. Your hand slips under her shirt, fingers pressing inside her bra, making her gasp._

_You laugh at the scandalized look she´s giving you, but don´t pull your hand away._

.

.

On day thirty-eight of your trip Santana makes it onto your background. You´ve spend the day in Saint-Florent where you visited the Citadelle génoise and the Cathédrale du Nebbiu. Right now Santana´s in the kitchen preparing you something to eat since you´ve missed dinner with la Madame, and you´re looking through the photos you took today.

One picture stands out. Santana´s smile is so beautiful, her eyes so open and bright. The memory of your lips against her cheek is still fresh.

.

.

_You read a book one evening while Santana sits next to you drawing postcards. You never knew she was so talented, but you don´t tell her that. She makes you write them, even the one for Brittany, which you think probably means something, but you don´t know what._

.

.**  
**

That night you can´t sleep. You look so happy on all the photos you´ve taken so far.

It´s not like you were unhappy before, back in Lima, but something feels different. Feels right; like some missing piece finally fell into place.

What will happen once the time of bikinis, of French wine, and lazy days is over?

There are moments when you´re afraid, afraid of what will happen once this trip is over.

.

.

_You´re floating with your eyes closed. The sun is standing high in the sky and it´s burning hot._

_It´s the bluest water you´ve ever seen, the bluest sky, the brightest smile. You think it´s impossible not to fall in love with her; not here, not where everything is so close to perfect, where her smiles are the most beautiful you have ever seen._

"_Let´s go buy some happiness," she says with a grin. You love when she smiles like that._

"_You´ve got a serious ice cream addiction going," you tell her._

_.  
_

_.  
_

In the evening she´s sitting by your side on the balcony, often doing her nails while you read or look through the pictures you took during day. These are calm moments, full of comfort and content.

You wonder what it would be like; permanently sharing an apartment with her; her drawings and magazines all over the place, her clothes lying around, always a bit messy but homely. You can see yourself coming home to her. And it makes you smile.

She shows you her nails (a deep red today) and you lean over and kiss her, because you want to and because you can.

.

.

The next morning you wake up to the sun shining in your face. You blink a few times, slowly waking up. Through the open door you can see into the tiny kitchen across the hall, where Santana is standing in only her underwear and a small top. Her silhouette is illuminated and for a moment your breath catches in your throat. She looks stunning, and you finally stumble, leaving the fine line you´ve been dancing on ever since you came here behind, and fall in love.

.

.

_You play tic-tac-toe in the notebook Santana always carries around in her purse. When you win five games in a row she calls you a cheater and gets up to take a swim in the ocean._

_There´s a list of all the places you have visited so far, of all the things you have done, some drawings and notes, a few French words and their translation._

_When Santana comes back out of the water she lies down on top of you. She´s cold and smells like the ocean._

"_Let´s sleep at the beach tonight," she suggests with a bright smile._

"_Everything you want," is all you answer._

.

.

Sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night.

You can´t stop looking at her, touching her. On some nights she wakes up, her eyes meeting yours in the dim light, her hands finding your skin.

Quiet love-making is what follows.

The sounds she makes, the ones you make, will never leave you.

.

.

"When it´s perfect it´s boring," Louis tells you with a grin. "A friend of mine always says that. She´s a musician from Russia."

Maybe your attitude towards life is wrong, maybe perfection isn´t what´s going to make you happy, and striving for it is just a futile endeavor.

.

.

Her jeans shorts are hanging open and she´s still not wearing a shirt when she steps out onto the balcony, "what did you say?" She asks around her toothbrush.

For a moment you can´t answer, because just like the other morning you can´t help but fall a little more in love with her.

"I told you to put on a shirt."

"Fine," she says with an eye roll and turns to go back inside, in the doorframe she changes her mind and walks back to you, only to lean down and leave a wet minty kiss on your lips.

You push her away wiping the toothpaste of your mouth, "Just leave and get ready, idiot."

.

.

You can still hear the music and voices from the party. Your bare back is pressed against the rough stone wall; you throw your head back when her hand disappears inside your shorts. It´s a clear night and for a moment all you can see are the stars above. Then you feel her touch deep inside you and your eyes close.

"You´re so perfect, so mine," she pants against your neck.

She tastes like tequila and you´ve never been kissed like this, never felt wanted like this. You feel like you´re losing your mind, her kisses alone would be enough to make you come.

Her hand leaves your shorts, your back hurts, rubbed raw on the stone.

"Take me home," you breathe out, needing to really feel her, skin on skin.

.

.

The smell of fresh coffee in the morning is comforting.

When you open your eyes for the first time that day you find Santana sitting on the edge of the bed, a cup in hand as she skims through the French or Italian Vogue, you can´t tell.

"Hey," she says quietly when she notices you´re awake, "want a croissant?"

"How long have you been up?"

She shrugs her shoulders, "a while."

You smile into the kiss, it´s barely ten and she already tastes like ice-cream.

Lazy mornings like this you love the most.

.

.

_You spend a lot of your time reading and discover that Santana´s surprisingly good at entertaining herself. She spends almost a whole day on a drawing of the harbor while you read through half of your novel, quietly sitting beside her, your feet barely touching her legs._

_A content sigh leaves your lips; she looks up and gives you a soft smile, sharing the sentiment._

_Your mind wanders. You think about other things you want to share with her, other moments at other times and in different places._

_You press your toes into her thigh._

.

.

She says she loves you and you know you love her back.

You won´t take back all the heartfelt words spoken late at night in a place so far away from everything you know.

There are a lot of regrets in your life, but this will never be one of them.

.

.

_It takes you almost a minute to realize that your phone is ringing one night. You can barely remember that this is what your ring tone sounds like, but whoever is trying to call you is very patient and persistent._

_You don´t answer, you´re not in the mood to speak to anybody that isn´t the girl right beside you._

.

.

With a soft kiss on the cheek you leave her alone, letting her sleep peacefully, while you go downstairs to meet up with Louis for a late breakfast.

"You´re glowing," he tells you when you take a seat in front of the small café across the street. You can see your balcony from there.

"So?"

"Nothing, it suits you."

You can tell that he´s happy for you.

"Thanks," you mumble catching his eyes. The ´you´ from four months ago would have fallen in love with him, his charming smile and stunning blue eyes, the accent. The ´you´ that is sitting across from him now can only think about the girl still sleeping in your bed on the other side of the street.

.

.

_Having a glass of wine with Louis on your balcony quickly becomes a regular occurrence. After dinner, when la Madame retires to bed, claiming to still be in need of her beauty sleep, you move upstairs to enjoy the rest of the night._

_This time it doesn´t take long for Santana to fall asleep in your arms; the day has been long and unlike you she didn´t have the time to nap during your drive home._

_You don´t want to wake her, instead you wrap your arm a little tighter around her._

.

.

When you get back home an hour later Santana is still knocked out in your bed, naked and bathed in sunlight. You strip out off your clothes and get back under the sheets with her.

It´s a hot day, but you can´t stay away from her.

Her skin is warm to the touch, warm and inviting.

.

.

On the boardwalk in Calvi she gets you a necklace.

It sticks to your skin later that night when you´re underneath her, rhythmically moving with her, quietly moaning her name. It presses right against your heart when she collapses, breathing heavily against your neck.

At night the future is so far away yet right beside you, sleeping peacefully.

Neither of you makes any promises, it´s probably the first time you´re really honest with each other. You learn that the truth and honesty can be quite scary.

"I love you," the girl besides you whispers tiredly, "please don´t be scared."

You wonder whether Santana might know you better than you ever thought.

.

.

One night you sit outside with your laptop; Santana had retired to bed an hour earlier, and you´ve spent the time watching the videos you´ve made during the last weeks. Neither one of you can be described as a talented camera operator; the picture´s often blurred or fuzzy, sometimes even upside down.

The last five minutes you´ve stared at a frozen frame. You stopped the video at a moment where Santana´s smile is literally breathtaking. Her face takes up the whole screen because she was so close to you when this was filmed. If you let the video run it will only take a few seconds before she will push the camera aside and all you can see is the sky. You remember how she´s kissed you then, and how a little later you had dropped the camera into the sand.

For five long minutes the screen will be black, but there will still be the sounds of the ocean, the sounds you made. When Santana picked the camera up again she zoomed in on your face, commenting on how you looked like you could need a cold shower. She was sitting on your lap, the picture is unsteady, but your smile is not.

You never knew you could look that happy.

.

.

At times you feel like you´re chocking on all these feelings. You wonder whether you were ever supposed to feel such happiness, ´cause it sometimes feels like your heart can barely take it.

You´re happy, but you know that you´ll probably never be that happy again once you leave. It´s a strange feeling, and it makes your heart ache just a little too much.

.

.

_Sitting there on an island in the Mediterranean sea with your new friends, a bottle of wine and a breathtaking sunset, your life at home seems ridiculously far away, insignificant, all the useless drama and fighting. _

_You wonder if this is what growing up feels like._

_It´s like you´re in another world. Lima, Finn, Rachel, Puck and co are so far away. You sometimes think it´s another life you´re living on this island._

_The summer, this trip, is so much better than you could have ever imagined. It´s such a wonderful moment, such an incredible feeling, you could´ve cried. But you don´t. Because Santana is still Santana and she would tease you and tell you that tears are for sad moments not happy ones._

.

.

You don´t know whether this will continue after you leave the island. But for once in your life you´re just going to enjoy the moment; the future, all the worrying, can wait. For now all that matters is the present, the living, the loving, Santana.

Corsica is a place where your soul can grow, where your heart feels a little lighter.

The days are filled with sun, music and happiness.

There aren´t enough words to describe how you feel, or maybe there are and you just don´t know them because you´ve never felt this way before.

It´s not the real world though. In reality not every day is a Sunday, and you´re not certain whether you and Santana could work on a hectic Monday, or a stressful Wednesday; maybe yours is just a holiday love. You want to believe that you could make it work, that there´s no expiration date on your relationship, but you can´t lie to yourself, can´t help being pessimistic when you look at the calendar and see the days run by.

College, Yale, the future, it´s something you don´t talk about. For all you know the world ends in thirteen days, when you have to go back home.

.

.

There´s this ghost inside your head; never leaving you alone, always reminding you of what you try so hard to forget, to ignore. All the what ifs that won´t leave your mind.

"Just enjoy it while it lasts," Louis tells you wisely when you talk to him about your fears. "There´s no such thing as a guarantee when it comes to love."

"Unfortunately."

"Would be kind of boring if there was, don´t you think?"

He´s a real romantic and it´s the first time you acknowledge that you´re not. Because if there was such thing as a guarantee or insurance for matters of the heart you´d be the first to sign up for it. And nothing about that is romantic.

.

.

_Earlier that day Santana had gone fishing with Louis while you had stayed behind working in the garden with la Madame. _

_Now you´re back downstairs, standing in the kitchen of your landlady, helping her prepare the fish the other two had brought home._

"_She ´as good ´eart," Mémé tells you, "strong ´ead, strong ´eart."_

_You nod your head in agreement; you know that despite her faults Santana is a great person._

"_I´m French," she continues, "I know all about love. Real love," she adds after a moment, "not Hollywood love. Nothing ever is like Hollywood."_

_You love this woman and you wonder why your grandma can´t be a little more like her, why Santana´s abuela can´t be a little more like her._

.

.

One Tuesday night you go to the cinema; you don´t care that you don´t understand a word, not as long as Santana´s lips and tongue are keeping you busy in the dark.

You´re not prepared for the rain. Within moments you´re soaked, Santana´s white shirt turns see-through and clings to her body like a second skin.

It takes you a few minutes to jog back to the apartment, your home away from home.

Getting Santana out of her shirt is a long struggle and you´re seconds away from simply taking the scissors and cutting it off her body when it finally comes off.

Her wet hair is teasing your skin when you lay in bed a little later, watching the rain while the radio plays softly in the background.

"Even when it rains it´s still so beautiful," she tells you. Silently you agree and wonder whether this might apply to your relationship as well. Because you know that back in the States there will be showers and storms waiting for you.

.

.

You try to remember what it felt like without her love surrounding you.

But you can´t.

.

.

"You´re even more beautiful here," Santana tells you quietly the next morning, softly caressing your face, all traces of worry long gone, "how can you be so beautiful?"

You want to tell her it´s her, how happy she makes you, that she´s the reason you´re glowing. But you don´t want to say too much, don´t want to risk her pulling away.

She´s so perfect, so real, and at least for this summer she´s yours.

.

.

You´re staring at the ceiling. A warm breeze is floating in through the open balcony door, Santana sighs in her sleep.

You wonder how everyone else could have left her, how nobody back in Lima ever saw what you get to see every day now.

Maybe Santana´s growing up as well; maybe she´s just as ready to leave behind all that was as you are. Maybe you can start over together, begin the rest of your lives side by side.

You wish this was an endless summer as your fingers trail along her back.

.

.

_You spend a lot of time trying to make a map of her body, but she´s always distracting you at some point requesting you to either stop it or sleep with her. _

_Most of the time you go with the latter._

_The calendar tells you that it´s only another eight days you have left in this paradise, eight days till you´ll have to wake up again and go back home._

_There are plans you have for the fall, new chapters to be written in your life, there´s the distance and uncertainty, there´s Brittany and that other part of Santana, the one she left behind all the way across the ocean. _

_So many reasons for this not to work once you leave you think with burning eyes._

.

.

Time is running through your fingers like the sand on the beach did.

You´re scheduled to fly back home in three days now and you´re having trouble falling asleep. You´re not ready to go; not ready to leave this heaven behind for an uncertain future.

It´s the first time you cry since leaving Lima.

"Maybe we could stay another week?" Santana suggest quietly as if reading your thoughts. You turn around in her arms, she looks hopeful. You can feel your heart grow three sizes when she looks at you like that.

"Yes."

She brushes away your tears, leaves a kiss on your lips, and you´re asleep within minutes.

.

.

Whatever will happen in the future, after you leave Corsica behind, you will always have the memories of this perfect summer. It´s the biggest gift Santana could have given you.

Because of these nine weeks of utter beauty and happiness a part of you will always love her. And the piece of your heart, of yourself, that you leave behind on Corsica, will forever belong to her.

.

.

"We should come back here someday," Santana quietly tells you the last night of your trip. Squeezing her hand you silently agree. You should come back one day, together.

Only together.

"If I could I would press repeat again and again," she continues, whispering in your ear. You try to blink back the tears but they fall nonetheless. This isn´t goodbye, you know it´s not, but after this summer nothing will ever be the same again.

.

.

On the day of your departure you take one last picture with Louis and la Madame on the steps in front of the house. The old lady promises you it will get a special place in her apartment, just like you two have a special place in her heart. There are tears in your eyes when you say goodbye.

"It´s _au revoir_," she tells you, as if she knows that you will be back.

You raise your hand and wave goodbye to la Madame, wave goodbye to a summer that changed so much, but maybe not nearly enough.

.

.

Louis drives you to the airport. It´s a long and sad drive, even though he and Santana spend the whole time cracking horrible jokes.

"Promise you will have a place for me when I come to visit?"

"Of course, for you always," you tell him and you mean it. You really hope to see him again.

"Things will be fine," is the last thing he tells you as he hugs you close. He knows about your fears, but he´s optimistic. At least one of you is.

.

.

You don´t know what the next day will hold, when Corsica is left behind and you´re back in Lima, but when you feel Santana carefully taking your hand, tangling your fingers together, you know that you will be back; that the island will always be the home of your heart.

* * *

Leaving this scenic world behind you don´t know where you go.

Nobody knows that you fell in love far away from home.

You have no regrets.

You close your eyes.

It´s Tuesday, almost fall.

You were gone for the summer.

You know the French word for love.

You fall asleep with Santana by your side, holding your hand.

Your heart is full of memories.

You´re happy and afraid.

fin


End file.
